


Fervour

by iruusu



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Alpha!Sinbad, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Omega!Judal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2018-12-30 17:37:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12113799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iruusu/pseuds/iruusu
Summary: Omegas are built for submission, delicate and beautiful, quick to heartbreak and quicker to tears. And none of these things have ever appealed to Judal—at least, not until he meets Sinbad.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> its been.. a long time since i posted anything fmdnhfj but! i've wanted to write an a/b/o for a really long time so im finally gonna!! start one!!
> 
> first chapter is very brief, kind of like a prologue tbh, and updates on this will probably be super sporadic ?? maybe just like ?? vignettes bc i dont want to formulate a plot but!! we'll see!!
> 
> feedback is always appreciated !! <3

From the moment he walked into the room, Judal could feel the shift in the atmosphere. His was a heady scent, intoxicating, and Judal couldn’t help but lower his head at the truly overwhelming aroma; it was a deep-ingrained instinct to shy from such a scent, one commanding authority and demanding submission, one impossible to resist. Judal dipped his head, a bit shamefully as he thought of it, for he wished he had half the gall to hold his head high and proud in such a presence.

 

Judal was eighteen, young and naive, and still had yet to experience his first heat. He swore that it meant nothing, of course, but perhaps it meant everything as he watched the man, from the corner of long-lashed carmine eyes, walk straight past him.

 

Perhaps if Judal had the courage to speak to such a man, or to even look at him, then he wouldn't have to bear the humiliation of being passed up for whichever pretty omega drew the man’s limited attentions in a haze of heady pheromones. Regardless of what it was, Judal couldn't help feeling very, _very_ small as he watched, silently, fair cheeks burning with hidden blush.

 

An omega was built for submission. While Judal hadn't always liked the idea he couldn't help but admit that he’d warmed to it, with time. Judal didn't need to have his first heat to know for sure, not like the others did; it was in his nature. Judal had known all his life what he was, and the state of his sexual maturity would not change what he knew in his heart. Judal was an omega, delicate and beautiful, and one look at him could send any brutish alpha into a trance. He didn’t need the scent. And yet this man hadn't looked at him, not once, and Judal had no intoxicating heat to draw a wandering eye.

 

Judal was an omega, but perhaps that meant nothing to anyone if he hadn't even had his first heat.

 

He must have looked so childish and _stupid_ to this man, the one who hadn't even noticed him, the one he couldn’t help but watch from the corners of his eyes, the one Judal finally gathered the courage to admire once he was sure that he wouldn't be seen. Judal was no stranger to alphas and their Herculean strength, had seen the way that they dominated in every arena, but Judal had never seen another alpha like _this one._ Judal couldn’t help feeling drawn to him, with his features severe, and yet still charming in youth: strong jaw, a dip in the bridge of his nose that suggested the fighter’s build was more than just for show, dazzling golden eyes, and a smile so bright that Judal felt as though he might faint.

 

Judal could only watch, silently, as the man charmed his way through the crowd. The woman he’d chosen was beautiful—a beta, Judal could tell that much even though he didn't have the taste—but her plain and bland scent came with it one enticing promise: lack of commitment. An alpha could sleep with whomever he desired—with little regard for the consequence of his seed—but mating an unbonded omega for a single night was simply asking for trouble. It was simple fact that omegas were delicate things, quick to heartbreak and quicker to tears, and no alpha in his right _mind_ wanted to deal with a problem like _that._ Unless of course, the heat was particularly delicious _,_ in which case nothing else mattered.

 

As he watched, Judal didn't feel jealousy as much as he did curious, and maybe, somewhere buried within, a little bit sad. He knew that he had no right to feel such a thing for a man he hadn't even met but Judal couldn't help the way that his heart clenched at the very sight, knowing that he would be ignored, again, as he always was. Judal watched as the man took another shot, throwing back his head so that long, purple locks slid back over the fabric of his shirt, a sinfully _tight_ shirt that stretched impossibly tighter over his broad-shouldered physique with each and every move. Judal silently feared that the shirt might rip, and at this rate, he almost hoped that it would.

 

Judal took another slow, tentative sip of the bitter, peach-flavored drink he was probably too young for and forced himself to look away, despite the way that warmth passed through him in heavy waves.

 

For what it was worth, Judal didn't want a mate as much as he liked the _idea_ of one, just like a peach-flavored daiquiri was a far better idea in his head than it tasted on his tongue. Of course, Judal wanted a mate. He wanted a mate to adore and be adored, to love and be loved, wanted a partner who would hold him and take care of him and lavish him with love and luxury and _happiness._ Judal wanted nothing more than that.

 

But Judal did not want a child when he was barely an adult himself, and though the thought may have been appealing to some Judal did not want an alpha’s monstrous cock forced inside of him, not now, not ever. (At least, not anytime soon.) Just as Judal thought that he was ready for the awful, bitter daiquiri, he would much prefer a mild and juicy peach instead.

 

Judal wrinkled his delicate nose after another painful sip, and (hoping that no one would notice his weakness) tipped over the swirling glass and emptied it into the wastebasket, saving only the decorative cherry for himself. As he popped the juicy cherry into his mouth and crushed it between his teeth, Judal decided that this ripe little fruit suited his tastes far better than alcohol ever could.

 

When he looked back, the alpha was touching her; hands large and circling her waist, and then lower, _lower,_ until even one as inexperienced as Judal could imagine where the touch was headed. Judal’s expression turned at the sight, rose petal lips parted in awe and eyes faintly widened with something a lot like hurt, and although Judal knew that it wasn't his right to mourn for a man who was never his to begin with it still stung, a little. Judal was an omega, he was _supposed_ to be beautiful, to be desired, to be _loved,_ but he wasn't.

 

In that moment, Judal decided that he had never enjoyed a single one of the Ren’s corporate affairs.

 

* * *

 

Omegas were delicate little things, built for submission, quick to heartbreak and quicker to tears. Sinbad had known this nearly all his twenty-four years of his life, but it wasn’t _his_ fault that they were so _fragile,_ nor was it his fault that _he_ was so _big._ He tried to be kind, really, he did, and his charms worked most of the time. But no alpha in his right mind wanted to deal with all of the whining, and all of the crying, and all of the _drama_ that an omega brought to the equation, no matter how beautiful she—or he—might have been.

 

Years of experience had taught Sinbad it was best to play it safe, so he did. While they weren’t his first preference, betas could be charming too, could be just as lovely, and there were no tears or heats or surprise pregnancies that had been rumored since the beginning of time. Well, sometimes there were, but the risk was _much_ lower, and that was a gamble Sinbad was willing to take. He had to get his fill somewhere, in any case.

 

Of course, he had bedded omegas before, and they were very, _very_ nice. It was easy for Sinbad to have anyone he wanted, after all. Handsome, powerful, and successful, it was often enough that Sinbad had omegas flocking around him, pretty things that would answer to his every beck and call. He could choose any one of them for his bed, and had he been a weaker man (as he once was), Sinbad often fell victim to temptation.

 

It didn’t take much at all to prepare them, only a firm hand or perhaps a low growl, and it only took moments for Sinbad to sink into tight, _tight_ heat. But, Sinbad decided, his days of bedding fragile omegas were long behind him. Sinbad was a man now, and no matter how lovely the omega, he had more important things to worry about than the tears he’d face when he, inevitably, left the next morning.

 

It was simply easier not to get involved at all, for the inconvenience of the situation didn’t compare to the heavy guilt that sank in Sinbad’s chest at facing eyes filled with heartbreak. After all, Sinbad was responsible now, and responsible men didn’t break virgin hearts for one-night-stands.

 

He found other ways to entertain himself. Omegas were, of course, his greatest preference, but there were things to be desired from the other sexes as well. Sinbad made off with what he could—and he could get _whatever_ and _whomever_ he wanted, as one of the most eligible alphas around—and he was fine with that. But, every once in awhile, there was a particular individual who might turn his head, might evoke a particular feeling of want within him, and _that_ was never a good sign.

 

The illustrious Ren family was well-renowned for its business dealings, dealings that ran in the same circle as Sinbad’s own multimillion dollar corporation. He often found himself forced to make nice with them—particularly Ren Kouen, a near equally eligible man of whom Sinbad was not very fond—and it was certainly a challenge.

  
  
Even still, Sinbad couldn’t help but feel impressed each time he was allowed entry to the family manor. The Ren family was extravagant in taste. The grand hall was filled with beautiful things, with tall pillars that scaled to the high ceilings, topped with glistening chandeliers, with marble-tiled floors shining with refined elegance, rimmed with gold at the accent of the walls. There was an abundance of worldly, exotic decor lining the halls, but none were more striking than the one coming down the winding staircase with slow, delicate steps, pretty hand skimming the rail, careful so not to catch and trip on the long, silky fabric trailing behind long, milky legs.

 

Sinbad had never seen a person who looked like that. There was a careful grace to their figure, draped in fine silks that swathed over polished cream skin, slightly pinkened with delicate blush. Sinbad was not usually so taken by appearance alone, for the scent was rather weak (but still there, sure as ever), a fledgling mist of perfume, fragile and airy but—ah, distinctly _male._ Sinbad had to look again to be sure, though the primary sex had never been particularly important to Sinbad’s tastes. But with this one, that didn't matter. He was _beautiful,_ in a raw and elegant way, in a manner impossible to deny. It was impossible for Sinbad not to stare.

 

And yet Sinbad didn't catch himself staring, didn’t catch his gaze roaming steadily down the length of the figure, of all the intricate details adorning this creature with elegance and grace. The twinkling jewelry was elaborate, though tasteful, shining even in the low light, and then there was that _hair._ It was often considered old-fashioned for a male omega to keep such long hair, but this one clearly had the reason. Unbound, it looped in dark waves around intricate pins and spilled in rivers of ink over milky white shoulders, trailing all the way down to his _feet;_ the perfect crowning glory to frame his small, pretty face. And then, there were those _eyes_. Sinbad barely had the chance to marvel at them before the omega came to the lowest stair, was impossibly close to him now, and those bright, carmine eyes flitted up to meet his, intrigued yet absentminded all the same. Suddenly, Sinbad forgot how to speak.

 

Sinbad was well-accustomed to being the most attractive person in the room, but tonight, he most certainly was not.

 

In his haste to curb the new and very unwelcome feeling stirring within him, Sinbad had quickly shoved away to satisfy his needs with more _available_ partners, and he knew if he laughed and drank enough he wouldn’t even be able to tell this person apart from the last. But this person, this woman he’d settled upon, did not have the lovely long black hair, nor the silvery moon-white skin, nor the deep, mesmerizing eyes, red as twin pools of crimson blood. And, worst of all, she did not possess the delicate, flowery scent of a blossoming young omega, and in his many weaknesses Sinbad remained unsatisfied.

 

If Sinbad were a better man, he would have been content with this; for what sort of man could be _unhappy_ to have beautiful people throwing themselves at his feet night and day? And yet sometimes, he could still feel that bloody crimson gaze watching, quietly, and all Sinbad knew was the faint, delicate aroma enticing his want for more.

 

Sinbad could have anyone he wanted, and yet he still could not have him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love.. pining


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok.. it was so hard to update this i honestly didnt know where to go kgjfbhdj but honestly ! seeing all the lovely comments on this motivated me to write more so thank u all so much! i dont think i wouldve updated without all the encouragement and it was so wonderful to see so thank u all !!!!!!!!! SO much!!!! please enjoy whatever this is!!!!

Sinbad was not used to being ignored.

 

Playful flirtation was something with which Sinbad was well acquainted. But to be plainly ignored by the person he favoured, this was something with which Sinbad had no experience. He didn’t quite know what to make of it.

 

This, however, was the reality facing Sinbad as he watched the pretty omega with the long hair slip away from his view, and for once, he felt powerless to the chase.

 

It wasn’t that Sinbad _didn’t_ want to chase—he knew how to do it, knew how to pursue a lover; the hunt was what made the exchange worthwhile, more often than not. And Sinbad wanted this person, the omega with the sweet, soft, flowery scent, but he could not bring himself to follow. Sinbad felt, for an instance, as though he were a stranger in his own body, a witness to the scene before him, and yet powerless to act on it.

 

Sinbad could not recall feeling like this before. Worried, for a moment, that he was losing his touch, Sinbad could not bring himself to return to the woman of his choosing, and excused himself to resume his failed conquest.

 

* * *

 

 

Judal felt himself a stranger in his own home, naive and immature, and a lifetime away from the many indulgences of the family’s guests. It was not hard to break away; Judal was paid no mind when he finally slipped out, face burning hot with blush.

 

Stranger though he was, time and boredom had taught Judal of the many nooks and crevices of his home, the best places to escape—and Judal was no stranger to escaping the fervour of the Ren’s illustrious dinners. He could recall, quite clearly, a certain room decorated with plush couches and soft pillows, the perfect way to escape without making a dramatic exit. Judal felt he’d had enough drama for one night, and he’d barely even said anything.

 

It was only once Judal had come across his quiet room and prepared to settle in that he caught the draft of heady, intoxicating musk, like ocean spray and cardamom, wafting in the air.

 

For only a moment Judal thought, mistakenly, that he’d interrupted some sort of late night tryst, and already prepared to excuse himself. He would stake no claims to any alpha engaged in a late night conquest. But a moment’s thought brought Judal back to the foyer, to the scent of alpha brushing past, and the memory alone proved that Judal was already too enamored with a man he did not know.

 

With a single glance, Judal was met with a familiarly strong jaw, a faintly curved nose, and a smile still blinding even now, tight-lipped and gentle in the quiet, shared expanse.

 

“It’s you,” said Judal, as if that meant anything. The boldness of his accusation settled on him with a slow blush, and he shook his head. “Sorry,” said Judal, “I didn’t mean—”

 

“I should apologize,” the tall man spoke in a low, husky murmur, and while his words may have appeared coarse he offset his tone with the shadow of a warm smile. “I should have said something when you came in, I just.”

 

“You _just?_ ” Judal pressed, a delicate eyebrow arched. He took the moment to meet the man’s gaze; for his impressive figure, tall and broad, he was unimposing as ever. His broad physique contrasted a wide smile and kind eyes shaded by strong brows, and had it been anyone else Judal might have cowered; now, he was only emboldened.

 

The man seemed to realize that Judal expected him to finish, and his nervousness bubbled in a laugh. “Sorry, its my fault. I guess I was just a little,” he paused, searching for the most delicate word, “distracted.”

 

“Distracted,” Judal managed, fighting a growing warmth in his stomach. The word may as well have been laced with poison, and Judal was thankful that it concealed any reverence he may have felt for the _striking_ appearance of the man before him. “It seems that your kind is always a bit distracted.”

 

The man’s eyes darted a hair lower on Judal’s frame, and the accusation simmered between them. “Yes,” the man managed, and his smile failed to conceal a wince. “It would seem so.”

 

* * *

 

Distracted did not begin to cover what Sinbad was feeling, but perhaps it was a start.

 

Had Sinbad noticed the youth come in, he liked to believe that he would have said something. So quiet when he entered that Sinbad hadn’t even noticed the presence when he heard the click of the door against the frame; it took the soft, enchanting fragrance of peaches and jasmine blossoms for the recognition to sink in.

 

Sinbad, indulgent, allowed himself the barest of moments to look.

 

The youth was lovely. His was a soft beauty that could not be fabricated, raw and unpolished in the height of waning adolescence. It was hard to drink in all at once.

 

 _You are beautiful,_ he wanted to say. _You are beautiful and I don’t want to ever stop looking at you._ Sinbad, in a rare instance of good judgment, remained silent, as if fearing the words could slip from his lips by feat of accident. They would not have been false.

 

It was as though the unattainable were suddenly within Sinbad’s reach, and within the instant he could feel himself wanting.

 

“I’m Sinbad,” he said quickly, once the youth had concluded his verbal lashing. He offered a hand, and watched as auburn eyes fixed onto it; the image reminded him of a sleek, spoiled cat studying a meal with critical disinterest. It took a moment, a touch too long to be really acceptable, and then velvety soft, uncalloused fingers pressed into the palm of his hand, and Sinbad held them.

 

“I’m Judal,” said the youth quietly, and his tongue struggled to complete the introduction. He did not meet Sinbad’s gaze, and so he resigned himself to watching the flutter of long eyelashes as the youth—Judal—looked straight ahead, eyes level with Sinbad’s collarbone. For a moment, Sinbad took the gesture to be borne out of bashfulness, and perhaps it was, but those eyes were drawn to his exposed chest with far more intensity than any sweet, demure omega ought to have been.

 

Sinbad brought Judal’s hand to his smiling lips, and dropped a kiss to the back of it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Judal,” he murmured, and with the proximity of Judal’s hand, his warm breath certainly tickled the moonlit skin. “Forgive me, but—it seems that you are quite distracted as well.”

 

As if he had been burned, Judal drew his hand back to his chest. Only now he chose to meet Sinbad’s gaze, eyes swimming gold and scarlet in indignant offense, when he realized, belatedly, to what Sinbad was referring. The red of those eyes bled into his growing blush.

 

“I believe,” said Judal, small and pointed nose wrinkling with distaste. “That you seem have lost a button. Or maybe several.”

 

Sinbad could not help the laugh that shook his shoulders, reverberating through his chest; Judal, being eye level, had surely felt it. “Not lost, beautiful.” Sinbad swept a hand through his hair—a habit from his adolescence—and his smile glowed with the light of his eyes. “I find I receive a lot of attention like this. I guess that worked for the best, na?”

 

Judal bristled. Sinbad took it, at once, for hostility, but the only heat was in the youth’s rosy blush as he stumbled back on wobbly legs in a manner that, somehow, encompassed the picture of grace and composure.

 

“I,” Judal managed quietly, furtive gaze darting to the side. Sinbad could not see Judal’s eyes, hidden by the fall of his fringe, but he didn’t need to. “I just wanted to get away from the party.”

 

Sinbad could feel his stomach sink, and—ah, perhaps he had been a little mean, had pushed Judal a bit too far with harmless teasing. From appearance alone Sinbad could tell that Judal was young, and whether he was experienced was still debatable, but Sinbad knew that he had overstepped.

 

“I’m sorry,” said Sinbad, dipping his head. “I didn’t mean to insinuate anything. You must have wanted time to yourself.”

 

“You don’t have to leave,” said Judal, sooner than Sinbad had anticipated. It wasn’t coy, though—not with sweetly batted eyelashes and a knowing smile, but softer, earnest, and undeniably young. The shadow of a smile touched Sinbad’s lips.

 

“Don’t I, though?” Sinbad asked, turned to face him. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

 

“You are a guest in this home,” said Judal, soft, still refraining from meeting Sinbad’s gaze. “You can go wherever you please.”

 

Sinbad met him with a smile, a simper, but still inherently warm, and he chortled with laughter. “Alright,” said Sinbad, taking a seat on the divan. “I will.”

 

Sinbad did not need to look to feel Judal watching him with feline curiosity. Guarded but intrigued, he stood for perhaps a moment longer when at last he relented, sinking into the cushions with hands placed in his lap.

 

Seated beside him, the youth was smaller than he had looked before, especially when he drew in on himself. Ribbons of dark hair, black as ink, spilled over bare shoulders and hid his face, and Sinbad felt the sudden, unbidden urge to extend a hand and brush the strands back from his eyes. He promptly smothered the feeling.

 

“You don’t have to be nervous,” Sinbad promised, leaning just closer. Judal’s fragile, flowery aroma tickled his nose, and it took Sinbad a moment to steady himself. Nonetheless, he went on. “I won’t bite.”

 

Judal cast a glance in his direction, and Sinbad caught a look at his profile; small nose, long-lashed eyes, and plush, pursed lips. “You look like the sort of man who isn’t afraid to bite,” he muttered, and flush fingertips came up to brush his own nape. Inadvertently, he parted the waves of midnight hair to reveal the soft, unmarred—unmarked—skin, and Sinbad felt as though he were in a daze.

 

The gesture felt more an invitation than anything else, and Sinbad felt himself begin to slip. Judal, soft and beautiful, appeared to be offering himself upon a silver platter; forbidden or not, Sinbad did not know that he could stand to resist. Sinbad was not a weak man, certainly not, and he was not starved for the touch of another, but this, this was more temptation than he knew to deny.

 

“Though,” Judal added and dropped the hand, and soft hair spilled again over the pane of his marble shoulders, “you seem to be a bit preoccupied, most of the time.”

 

Sinbad paused; it was less an accusation than an observation, and it took a moment for Sinbad to understand. When he did, it was impossible to conceal a toothy grin. “You noticed me, then.”

 

Judal stilled. He shifted in his seat, and Sinbad watched his ears turn pink from behind the curtain of his hair. Judal brushes the strands back himself, and Sinbad was drawn to the dangling drop earrings that fell against his jaw, leading into the line of his pretty lips, of his small nose, of his big, darkly lashed eyes, like those of a fawn. “So what if I was? You’re rather hard to ignore.” The chiming of his jewelry was like music when he leaned against the back of the divan, stretching out his lean, elongated form against the pillows. Judal met Sinbad’s gaze with those pretty, auburn eyes, and it was as if Sinbad had forgotten how to speak.

 

When was the last time someone had gotten him like this? It took every bit of Sinbad’s restraint just to keep him from unfurling onto Judal right there, to have him and to claim him and let him know just _who_ those pretty lips belonged to. It was a dangerous thought. Sinbad and Judal had barely just met and yet Sinbad burned for him, felt the unmistakable pull of want, of _need._ Sinbad could not recall the last time he’d felt like this, could not recall if he’d _ever_ felt like this, particularly for a young, naive omega, wet behind the ears and burning hot with blushing embarrassment, and the thought alone was difficult to reconcile.

 

Judal was so demure, so innocent, with doe eyes and the perpetual mark of blush, and with the way he hid shyness behind the veil of his hair. It was a lovely side of him, a purity and innocence that was far too rare, and yet there was a part of Sinbad that wondered whether it were all a facade. There was fire roaring behind those long lashes, his skilled tongue the lash of a whip. And now here was Judal, on his back, as if offering himself for the taking—daring Sinbad for a taste. Judal may have been as innocent as he’d seemed across the foyer, too naive to understand the effect of his body and the perfume of his pheromones, but Sinbad felt that there was something more. Already he found himself hopelessly entangled in Judal’s web of seduction, could see him only as a vixen in virgin’s clothing. If the way Judal was looking at him meant anything at all, then the hunt would be a game Sinbad knew he would enjoy.

 

“That’s quite bold of you,” Sinbad hummed, and Judal, as if coming out of a trance, dropped his gaze. Sinbad was slow, cautious when he leaned closer, restraint burning his fingertips as he swept back the curtain of Judal’s sleek fringe, indulgent, grazing the shell of his ear. The languid lines of Judal’s frame went rigid, frozen still, and Sinbad was assaulted with a wave of heady, invigorating aroma. The scent that had been so fragile before, like velvety flower petals, was something entirely different now, as his pheromones flared with a potency that Sinbad could not have fathomed watching him from afar. For someone so physically delicate, all soft lines and and supple skin, to possess an aroma with such an _allure—_ Sinbad did not know that he could endure it.

 

“Yes,” said Judal, softly, but what had once been confident now seemed so unsure, and an outstretched hand was drawn up to his chest. “I’ve never been one to hide things like that.”

 

Even as he spoke, the tremble in his words made it hard to believe that he wasn’t hiding something as it were.

 

* * *

 

 

Judal felt, now more than ever, that he was horribly out of his depth.

 

As this man, Sinbad, came tantalizingly closer, close enough that Judal could count his dark eyelashes, could give a name to every fleck of gold in his eyes, Judal was reminded of his daiquiri, how much he’d longed for it and how bitter was its taste. When Sinbad leaned into him, Judal couldn’t help feeling much the same. Perhaps it was a phenomena that had been there all along, and Judal had simply been too naive to notice across the foyer, but now Sinbad was warm and real and _here,_ and Judal felt himself losing face.

 

The skin that Sinbad’s fingers had brushed against when he’d touched Judal’s hair (his _hair,_ the audacity of it!) felt as though it were lit aflame. When Judal came back to himself he defiantly shook his head, and the displaced strands slid back into place over his forehead as he fixed Sinbad with an expectant look.

 

“Stubborn, hm?” said Sinbad, as though he were unused to it, which, he probably was. “That’s rather rare.” He did not retreat, however, and Judal held his breath when Sinbad brought his face ever closer, close enough that Judal could feel the warmth of his simper, the potency of his scent, like jasmine and cardamom; like an aphrodisiac. He placed his hand over the one in Judal’s lap—so much larger than his own, and so close, suddenly—and his heart seemed to stop. “It’s not something that I’m opposed to.”

 

“I don’t need your approval,” said Judal, soft, smaller than he’d intended for it to be. What should have been a roar presented as a whimper, and Judal had never felt so unlike himself, as though he weren’t in control of his words. “I don’t need anything from you,” he muttered, and, quietly, “I don’t _want_ anything from you.”

 

At this, Sinbad appeared deterred, and his eyes grew faintly wider. “Are you alright?” he asked, and drew his hand back, resting it then on Judal’s bare shoulder, dotted with the soft ridges of goosebumps. He drew his whole body back until he was somewhat upright, but he was still close, too close for Judal to escape without making a fuss, without drawing attention to himself. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

 

“I’m not afraid of you,” Judal managed, in a voice that was trembling, on the precipice of tears that he _dared_ not spill, not now, not here. Judal looked vulnerable enough already. “And I’m not like other omegas. I’m not going to spread my legs for every alpha who looks at me the right way, okay? I won’t do it.” A pause, an unsureness, and then, “I won’t.”

 

“I didn’t mean for that,” Sinbad managed, like he’d been slapped. He brought his hand back from Judal’s shoulder, but still where he could see it. “I don’t—I don’t want anything from you.”

 

“Then you’d be the first,” Judal muttered, felt the poison slip from his tongue, felt it boiling in his veins. This was a mistake. It was a mistake from the very first instance of their meeting; Judal should’ve gone back to his bedroom the moment they met eyes across the foyer, should’ve run to safety as soon as they’d crossed paths in the privacy of his home. Judal was so far out of his league, out of his depth, and the predicament that he’d worked himself into was not one that all of his kind escaped unscathed. This was not a mistake, but a fatal misstep, and before he could even think to stand Judal was already eyeing the mahogany door.

 

At last, Judal gathered his thoughts and stood (too quickly) from the divan. Everything smelled like alpha, more than it had before, and Judal was less enchanted than suffocated. “I—I need to go.”

 

“I’m not going to hurt you, Judal.” He said it like a promise, a whisper so soft and yet so powerful, reverberating deep in his chest, a complexity matched only by his earnest gaze. “You don’t have to leave.”

 

Judal was almost, _almost_ taken with him, wanted to give in, to fold into Sinbad’s embrace, to be held and loved and _cherished_ , but then Sinbad took his trembling hand, cold and pale and too _small_ to entrust to such prowess, into his own, and Judal stilled.

 

“I do,” said Judal, far weaker this time, tugging his hand back with renewed desperation. Something warm sprung to the backs of his eyes and Judal refused to acknowledge it. Sinbad’s grip was a vice, could have held him and pinned him and trapped him were it what he wished, and Judal would not have fought it.

 

A weight was lifted from his chest when Sinbad, as if coming from a trance, let go, and Judal slipped from his fingertips as easily as he did through the door.

 

* * *

 

Sinbad, empty handed and confused, had made what was perhaps the biggest blunder of his romantic career.

 

He had gone too far, too fast; Sinbad should have known that his advances would overwhelm Judal, young as he was. Sinbad never failed to charm his history of lovers, had been doing so for too long. It wasn’t in Sinbad’s nature to repel his partners.

 

But perhaps the worst part of it all was the fear that shone so brightly in Judal’s auburn eyes, the faintest tremble of his rose lips, and the knowledge that it was _Sinbad_ who had frightened one so innocent and unsuspecting. Judal had looked so small, so terrified, like a lamb before the slaughter—it brought to mind the painful image of an alpha exerting power over the weaker sexes, an occurrence far too common in the modern age.

 

Sinbad had never wanted to be that sort of alpha, and yet.

 

The guilt clawed at him; his face burned with shame. This was the very reason that Sinbad had forgone courting omegas as an embarrassment from his youth, but Sinbad had been weak, and fallen victim to instinct far, far too quickly. It was a dangerous mistake to make.

 

Sinbad breathed a deep, sobering sigh. He had allowed himself, far too easily, to slip. Sinbad wanted nothing more than to forget about the pretty omega with jasmine-scented hair, with the warm, dark eyes, swirling with panic and fear. It was always easy to forget after a drink, or perhaps he’d find distraction elsewhere.

  
Sinbad had to restrain himself. Regardless of how badly he wanted, _needed,_ he would not make such a blunder again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eyes emoji feedback is always appreciated !!!!!


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